“Mr. Matthews is dead. He was killed in the drive-by this evening.” If he hadn’t thought she could get any paler, he had been dead wrong. She was now white as a sheet and clearly about to pass out. He crossed the kitchen to her.
“Dead?” She said it out loud mostly for her own sanity. She couldn’t believe he was dead. What was she going to do now? Had Clayton been the one who grabbed her to use her as a shield? She lifted a hand to her forehead to the spot that was now bandaged. “Were you the one who pulled me out of the way?”
“Yeah, I was.” He walked towards her, watching as the tears started to well. He knew what she must have been feeling. Confusion, for one, not knowing why someone would want to shoot up a charity banquet, and probably feeling worthless considering the bastard had tried to use her to protect his own ass. “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“I know. I just—why pull me out of the way? Clayton was the one who donated all the money to the charities. Logically he was the one who should have been saved.” Clayton had tried to use her as a shield. She tried to let that thought sink in, but everything felt so surreal.
“That’s not how I see it. Your life is much more valuable to me.”
“How is that? You don’t even know me.” She looked back down, covered her face with her hands, and started to cry.
The truth was that he didn’t even understand the reaction he was having to her. She was quite possibly in on the entire crooked organization, but after talking to her and seeing her reaction to Matthews’s death, he was having a harder time believing that. Either way, he needed her to focus so he could get whatever information she knew out of her. He felt awkward and placed a hand on her shoulder, only to have her turn into his body.
“It’ll be all right, Miss McNamara,” he said softly, and ran a hand down her hair. That’s good, he thought to himself. Keep it formal, Andrews.
She didn’t know what to do. How was she supposed to handle or process anything? Clayton, dead? It was incomprehensible. She knew that he hadn’t always treated her well—she could hate him for that—but he had always done good for others, hadn’t he? He gave his money to those in need. Hadn’t she ever seen those glimpses of a good man aimed towards her before?
Now he was dead and the only thing she could say about him was that he had been nice to others. He had beaten her, ripped her personality and strength away with every bruise he had given her. How many times had he told her that she was worthless? How many times had he told her that she should just crawl into a hole?
Her emotions were all over the damn place, and she couldn’t seem to grasp a single one of them. One minute she was sad, the next relieved that he was gone. What would she do from here? He wouldn’t allow her to work, and he paid for her apartment and everything she had needed to survive. How could she afford anything? She didn’t even begin to know where to start. And what about funeral arrangements? He had no other family, so it would be up to her, wouldn’t it?
* * *
SHE CRIED HERSELF to sleep, and Harley carried her gently over to the couch so he could make sure he was there when she woke up. He covered her with a blanket and brushed the hair that had fallen into her face. That’s when he saw the bruise. It was yellowing now, and sat on her perfect cheekbone just below her eye.
The son of a bitch had hit her. He didn’t know why he was surprised—the man didn’t believe in the sanctity of human life. She must have covered it with makeup, and he wondered how many others Matthews had given her. He wanted to revive the bastard so that he could take full responsibility for killing him with his own two hands.
His mother had once become the victim of an abusive man. He had put her in the hospital and Harley had beaten the asshole to a pulp. It was what led to him being removed from the police force. He had been angry at first, but it had been worth it, and looking back, he would do it all over again. The son of a bitch certainly hadn’t hit her again, had he?
He stood and continued looking down at her. She looked so vulnerable as she slept. The lines of concern had softened and left behind a youthful-looking face. Fan-fucking-tastic. He was in trouble. He had a weakness for women in general, specifically those who had been abused. Just what was he supposed to do now?
Focus, Andrews. Stay the course and get the information you need from her. Once that was done, he could turn her loose and never see her again.
If he hadn’t needed it before, he definitely needed that Scotch now. He took one last look at Norah, and turned to get one.
5
Norah woke, and for a moment she believed that everything had been a dream. She realized quickly that it hadn’t been and she was, in fact, living a nightmare. The old plaid couch she was lying on creaked as she sat to get a better look around the tiny living room. She hadn’t looked much past the table when she had come in last night, and the information Agent Andrews had given her had been shocking enough that it had wiped the energy right out of her. Not Agent Andrews, she reminded herself. He had asked her to call him Harley.
She saw that Harley had placed a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the table next to the couch for her. She grateful took two and then stood to find a bathroom. She found it quickly, seeing as how the house only had two interior doors and one led to the room she had woken in last night.
The bathroom was small, as she had expected, with a pedestal sink and tiny shower with a curtain in an ocean pattern. She smiled at the irony of the happy fish swimming upon the plastic. The ocean was vast with unknown depths, and this room was barely large enough for her to move around in. There was no laundry hamper or trashcan, not that there would have been room for either, and when she opened the medicine cabinets she saw only the necessities, and they were all brand new.
She remembered Harley saying that they were the only two who knew where she was. Maybe this was some sort of safe house. But why bring her here? Why not take her to a hospital instead? Norah touched the butterfly strips on her forehead. She had obviously been wounded, and probably could have used a checkup.
Norah splashed some cool water on her face and headed for the door. She would ask him all those questions and more once he woke up. She went and sat back on the couch to study him for a moment.